


Locas contra el muro

by gloss



Category: Love and Rockets (Comic)
Genre: Comics, F/F, tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-15
Updated: 2006-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:25:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hopey's better than any drug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locas contra el muro

**Author's Note:**

> When I offered icon ficlets, Sandy/k. and JadeLennox wanted Maggie and Hopey, dissing superheroes and getting sweaty, respectively (plus a cameo by Diefenbaker, if possible). Back in the day, las locas *did* read Teen Titans. G. beta'd and helped with the Spanish.
> 
> Setting/timeline: After "100 Rooms", before "Mechanics/Love and the Rocket", c.1984.

  


Things have a way of getting out of control when Hopey's around. The world spins a little faster, a little wobblier. The sky gets brighter, _closer_ , and everything's just a little more alive. Connected, too, like everything -- people and sky and uncertain gravity and shitty little stucco c-stores -- is crackling with the same emotional electricity. 

_Maggie_ has a way of getting out of control when Hopey's around. 

One time, back in middle school, she and Letty hung out with Speedy and he gave them unfiltered Camels to smoke. After the second, after she'd finished coughing up half her stomach, Maggie lay down on Mrs. Ortiz's neat back lawn and stared up at the lemon tree. Its branches crawled like penstrokes across the throbbing sky. Like calligraphy, describing a story, as the clouds burned. 

She's tried lots of other things since then -- Vato's Gold, of course, and Costigan's ancient Scotch, and joints dipped in acid, and PCP once by accident -- but no drug's ever made her feel like she did that afternoon. 

That's what it feels like. With Hopey, around Hopey, dragged into Hopey's orbit and spun out through the galaxies. 

"Maggot," Hopey hisses, elbowing her sharply in the ribs, yanking her back to Earth. She shoves a comic into Maggie's hands. "You got this one?" 

Back here in the discount room of Max's Funnies, things are so cheap that Max doesn't even bother putting the books into plastic sleeves. This one's an eight year old Superman Family, the cover torn nearly in two. "Used to. Not any more," Maggie says and hands it back. "It's no good." 

Eyebrows jumping, Hopey flips through the book. "It's got Supergirl, though. She's worth a quarter." 

"She's worth, like, three quarters," Maggie says and goes back to looking through her bin. "If we had 'em." 

She's already got a Comrade 7 special team-up with Green Lantern for Penny, four or five ripped and smelly Teen Titans books for Hopey, and a Cente Fernandez bio- historieta for Izzy as a joke. With two bucks and the return fare to Hoppers in her pocket, she's just about tapped out. 

"I'm gonna browse," Hopey announces, flapping open her big overcoat as she moves into the main, cleaner part of the store. 

Maggie sighs. Hopey's going to steal the new comics, is what Hopey's going to do. It never fails -- "What? I should give my money to some fat drooling guy and he gives it to another bunch of fat white guys so they make even more money? No frigging _way_ ," Hopey would say if Maggie asked her not to, so she doesn't bother. Just keeps her head down and riffles through the bin. There's an Ultimax Annual she's never seen, from when Demoña was still Go-Go Girl. It looks like Go-Go Girl's gotten herself kidnapped by the Evil Syndicate of Europe on Earth-Gamma; it's up to Ultimax and Mega-Boy to rescue her. Again. 

Because it's an annual, this one's fifty cents. Maggie weighs the change in her pocket and resorts her pile. She could -- no, she can't not get anything Comrade-7 related for Penny, even if Costigan can afford to buy the woman herself for Penny. It feels selfish to get something for herself and deny presents for her friends. 

Maybe the Speedy/Aqualad team-up she chose for Daffy can go... 

"That's bullshit, man! What are you, on fucking meth?" Hopey's voice cuts through the doorway. 

"Uh-oh," Maggie breathes. Thinking fast, too fast, she stuffs the Ultimax annual into her waistband, tugs down her shirt, and hurries into the front room. 

There's usually about two minutes -- at the outside -- between Hopey's initial explosion and the time they have to run for the hills. 

Hopey's shoving a big guy, sunburned neck and creepy trucker glasses, who outweighs her by at least a hundred and fifty pounds. He crashes into the X-Men display and lands on his fat ass. His buddy grabs Hopey's arm, yanks her back as she starts kicking the overturned books. 

"Say it again, asshole! Say it again!" Hopey screams and twists in the buddy's arms. "And you! Fucking let me go!" 

The guy on the floor wipes the blood from his head with a page of Magneto being mopey. "I'll say it as many times as you want, little spic freak." He heaves himself to his feet and smiles, showing tobacco-yellow teeth. "Ain't no way _Starfire_ could take Batman down. Simply not possible." 

"Chee..." Maggie mutters and implores Max, who's standing behind the counter, bouncing his baseball bat against his thigh, with her eyes. He shakes his head, so she moves forward and takes Hopey's arm. "Hopey, c'mon --" 

"Fuck _no_ ," Hopey twists out of the buddy's hold and shakes off Maggie, too. "She's an alien warrior. You don't think one starbolt could burn the big bat to a _crisp_? Stupider than you look." She gives him a sick, mean grin. Anyone with an ounce of sense would know to back off, seeing that smile. "Which is saying something, because --" 

"Hopita," Maggie says quietly as she steps between them. "Let's just go." 

"No, no," the trucker says. He pushes Maggie out of the way. The books fly out of her arms and the annual in her pants slips down one leg. "Let your little girlfriend --" 

"DON'T TOUCH HER!" Hopey launches herself at him, clawing for his eyes. "Redneck mother _fucker_ , you're going _down_ \--" 

As she's scrambling to pick up her dropped comics, Maggie hears a metallic clicking. Shotgun being cocked, and then, boom, it goes off over their heads and plaster's raining down on her, on her books, on the display racks. 

"Out of my store," Max yells, advancing on them with his gun. "All of you, now. None of you come back. Ever." 

"Max, just let me --" Maggie waves the books at him. 

"Fuck him," Hopey says, grabbing the neck of Maggie's shirt and dragging her to her feet, toward the door. "Shitcan of a fucking pissant store, overpriced bullshit _anyway_ \--" 

Maggie feels like she's flying. Like when Ultimax held her around the waist and hoisted her up to the roof where Maniakk waited, like she's bouncing around, a tiny pinball in a huge, clattering machine, and she digs in her pocket, tosses all her money at Max and runs after Hopey. 

* 

Her feet start hurting three blocks away from Max's. 

"Shouldn't have given him any money," Hopey reminds her, like Maggie needs to be reminded. "Let alone your bus fare." 

"I _know_ ," Maggie says. She makes Hopey stop behind a Vandy's so she can dig out the annual from her jeans. 

"How'd that fit in there?" Hopey grins and Maggie rolls her eyes. She buttons up her jeans and steps out from behind the dumpster. A can of something rolls across the broken asphalt. 

"You mad?" Hopey asks, bending down to grab the can. "Oyé!" 

"Nah," Maggie says. That's the craziest thing about hanging out with Hopey. Everything goes out of control, the world goes nutty like a nuthouse, and she's...happy. 

Even if her heart's sinking when she realizes what's in the can that Hopey's holding. Shaking. 

"Oh, _no_ , no spray-paint, c'mon. Let's just go home --" 

Hopey shakes up the can until the rattling bit can't keep up. "Oh, _yes_ ," she says, breaking into another run, back toward Max's. "Besides, it's like ten miles walking home." 

Maggie runs after her. Hopey's coat is flapping like the wings on a giant bird behind her, the sun's bouncing off her tiny, round head, and this is all going very wrong. 

"I'll --" Maggie stops when she manages to grab hold of Hopey's coattails and haul her to a stop. For a second, Hopey's legs are still churning. "Anything. I'll do anything if you don't go back there." 

Hopey's torn, it's obvious. Her tongue's stuck in the corner of her smirking mouth as she looks back and forth between the can and Maggie's face. "Anything?" 

Oh, _cheese_. Maggie swallows and makes herself meet Hopey's eye. "Yeah, anything." She digs in the pocket of her coat and hands Hopey the four issues of Teen Titans. "Got these for you, too." 

"Hey!" Grinning, Hopey throws her arms around Maggie's neck and kisses her. She tastes like sweat and pineapple soda, her mouth moves as crazily as the rest of her body, and pretty soon, Maggie's about to moan. 

But they're outside. They're not even in Huerta, they have to get home. 

"I'll call Izzy," she says. "You --" If she leaves Hopey here, Max's store is sure to get painted. "You, come with." 

Hopey's humming and bouncing on her toes as she follows Maggie, paging avidly through her new comics. 

* 

"No," Maggie says and crosses her arms over her chest. She's bare-assed and Hopey stole her bra a couple minutes ago, and now she's starting to shiver. All the same, she has to stand her ground. "No, Hopey. No. I can't." 

"You _won't_ , you mean." Hopey falls backward onto their bed. The purple curtain she ripped off the window a second ago rises in the breeze. "Not the same." 

"Hopey --" Maggie recrosses her arms. She's fat and _cold_ and this is a stupid idea. 

Wrap the curtain around her  mammas and waist so Hopey can be Nightwing to her Starfire? It sounded like a good idea. 

Until Maggie lost her clothes. Now she has to figure out how to dodge this bullet. 

But Hopey's rolling onto her side, eyebrows drawn low and curvey over her squinting eyes as she crawls like a cat across the bed. "Maggie. Maggot. Margarita Luisa, Perla, luz de mi corazon, culo grande..." 

When she wants to, Hopey can be -- really nice. 

"Ah!" Maggie yelps as Hopey gets her hands on Maggie's hips and tugs her forward. Hopey's burying her face in Maggie's flabby belly, massaging her fingertips into the meat of Maggie's hips. This is more than nice, this is -- this is almost like really flying, Hopey's tongue on her skin, her bristly shorn hair rubbing just below Maggie's breasts. 

This is better than flying, she thinks, falling forward a little, knee digging into the edge of the bed. Hopey's grinning up at her, her cheeks going red as her hands grasp Maggie's (big, legendary, _Jesus_ ) ass, lift and spread the cheeks. 

"Fuck the costume," Hopey says. Maggie falls the rest of the way down, knocking Hopey back, trapping one of her legs between her own. "Look better like this --" 

Her hand's in Maggie's hair, pulling at the back, tipping her head back, and Maggie lets Hopey's leg go, lets herself roll onto her back as Hopey clambers over her. 

"Stupid costume," Maggie mutters back. Like she could ever look like Starfire, Princess Koriand'r of Tamaran; she's short and pudgy and --. "Oh, hell, Hopey --" 

Hopey's reaching back as she straddles Maggie's thighs, tugging up her skirt and grinding down. No underwear, just the sudden, always-surprising _heat_ of her, slick as anything already, and then the matching heat of her mouth against Maggie's own. 

It's always been like this, out of control and more fun than anything. And it'd be easy to say that's all Hopey's doing -- a lot of it _is_ Hopey's doing, because she's fiercer and wilder than anyone Maggie's ever known -- but it's -- it's --. 

Hopey nips down on Maggie's chin. Her eyes are narrowed and she's breathing like she just ran a marathon. "Stop thinking." 

"Not --" Maggie tries to say, running her palm the length of Hopey's body, tickly short hair and long sweaty neck, down her side, cupping her breast and squeezing until Hopey's eyes close all the way and she groans through her open mouth. "Not thinking, I --" 

Hopey shivers and bites her lower lip, wriggling until her hand works its way between Maggie's thighs. "Open up, bonita --" 

She said that the first time they went all the way. Off to the side of the pit at Maddog's, Maggie balanced on a rocking barstool while Grodd and the Geniuses banged through their set, and she's never going to have sex again without hearing "Robot Cocksuckers of Suburbia" banging through her veins. She'd borrowed a pair of fishnets from Penny -- this was back when Maggie could fit into some of Penny's clothes -- and they'd torn as she climbed out of Doyle Blackburn's truck in front of the club. Hopey wouldn't leave the hole alone, widening it, working it around and around. By the time Grodd got off the stage, Maggie had one leg wrapped around Hopey's legs and Hopey had two fingers in the hole, reaching and squeezing and making Maggie groan and buck every time Hopey brushed -- 

That spot, right there, and she opens all the way up, her legs aching as she throws them wide and yanks Hopey's head down, kissing her with teeth and probing tongue. Hopey's got two fingers working inside Maggie, her thumb rubbing around her clit, and she's cursing and, maybe, quoting poetry or music lyrics, but Maggie can't really hear anything. Nothing beyond the hurricane surf in her ears and the heave of her own breath. She rocks up and down to meet Hopey's hand, closes her lips around the tendon at the side of Hopey's neck and reaches, reaches -- 

\-- reaches, finds, works her own hand between Hopey's skinny, muscled thighs. Makes Hopey buck and curse nonsensically -- "Shit fucking _cock_ " -- and grins against her neck. 

Maggie can do _anything_. Hopey believes that, shows her that, and there's always this floating, urgent time that Maggie needs more than anything else, when she is this. When she's not fat or clumsy or hysterical, but seven feet tall and powerful, the most beautiful woman in the multiverse and then some, as Hopey creams against her hand. As Hopey shudders over and over, her fingers stilling inside Maggie, as she yelps and contorts and spazzes out. 

Maggie kisses her face, sucks up the sweat sprinkling her hair, twists her hand and makes her come again. Hopey's hollering and biting Maggie's shoulder all at the same time. 

She could do this for hours, until Hopey's panting and red all the way down to the tips of her toes and cursing her out. Maggie wouldn't need to dress up, she wouldn't need to be anyone else, not even Starfire, just _Maggie_ , just like -- 

Like Hopey's yelling, her name over and over, pummeling Maggie's shoulder until they roll over and Hopey's skidding down the bed, tongue leading the way. Until her face is between Maggie's legs, tongue lapping and pushing, and all the electricity in the world is running across and through Maggie and she starts coming and coming until red and black static fills her eyes. 

* 

"Back to Oxnard?" Izzy leans her head against the steering wheel and sighs heavily. Even getting her out of the house was an effort. "Again?" 

"Sorry?" Maggie offers and Hopey noogies her hair. 

"Tell 'er why, Maggot." Hopey's breath is hot on the back of Maggie's neck as she leans forward. 

"Oh, yes," Izzy says and rolls her eyes as she turns the key. "I'm dying to know what could be so very important. Do explain." 

Maggie slumps in the passenger seat and shrugs. "I lost a bet." 

"She broke a promise, is what she did," Hopey says. The car's shocks can't take much more of her bouncing; Maggie makes a mental note to check them when she has a chance. "Okay, this is how it's gonna go down. You two're on watch for the pigs and I'm --" 

"She's going to deface private property," Maggie finishes for her. "Can we get this over with?" 

"Fine by me," Izzy says as the engine finally catches. 

* 

Leaning against the car, Maggie shares a tall boy with Izzy while they keep watch. Down the block, Hopey's cackles are coming through loud and clear. 

"Hey, you little Mexican bitch!" Max shouts as Hopey's almost finished the can. 

"Soy Colombiana!" Hopey yells as she paints the exclamation point on today's lesson: **Superheroes suck!**. "Fuck're you looking at?" 

Max pulls out the shotgun again, and Hopey takes off as Izzy groans, and Maggie drops the beer. It foams all over her good boots, and there's a coyote or wolf or something snarling at Max and biting the gun out of his hand as Hopey books for the car, whooping all the way. 

Maggie catches her as she jumps across the curb and Izzy punches the accelerator. The wolf chases them all the way back. 

* 

"Superheroes don't suck, though," Maggie says as she steals Hopey's basket of cheese fries. Izzy kicked them out of the car as soon as they entered the city limits and they just walked through Vandy's drive-through. "You don't believe that." 

"His do," Hopey mutters, wiping the paint and grease off her hands. "Superheroes for sale? Totally suck. Capitalist bullshit." 

It's not like Maggie can disagree. "Yeah," she says. "What do you want to do tonight, then?" 

"Eh. Something'll turn up." Hopey leans down to scratch the wolf's head; he gazes up at her adoringly, then glances at the fries and licks his chops. 

Maggie munches thoughtfully. "Always does, yeah." 

"Hey!" Hopey feints and tries to tackle Maggie. The wolf yips excitedly. "Gimme back my fries, piggy!" 

Maggie stuffs five in her mouth, gives the rest to the wolf, and grins. "Make me." 


End file.
